


To a year of great goodness

by Emilys_List



Series: The 'Jim is Jewish?' Series [3]
Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Angst, Atonement - Freeform, F/M, Jewish Holidays, Judaism, Yom Kippur | Atonement Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-19
Updated: 2008-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 22:41:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/692351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emilys_List/pseuds/Emilys_List
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over two Yom Kippurs, Jim explores what happened in the years before and what’s to come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yom Kippur 5767

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that you recognize. They belong to Mssrs. Gervais, Merchant, and Daniels, and all associated corporations. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author’s notes: This is the second in my ‘Jim is Jewish’ series; first up was Passover and now we travel to the high holy days. What will be next for Jim? Purim? :)

He's late, his legs are achy and stiff from driving, but all he can think is that he drove here on a whim and he's without a yarmulke. He walks into a temple self-consciously, brushing at his hair with quick strokes. He spots his family in the middle of a row and tries to make eye contact with someone, finally catching Tate's eye. She smiles and makes room for him while he squeezes past the Rosenthals. (In 10th grade he kissed Amber Rosenthal outside of the JCC. Awkward.) 

His mom whispers, "I knew you'd make it," and his dad shushes her. She rolls her eyes. "Like I can't say anything today, god, we're only fasting, not being mute." He accepts his mother's hand squeeze and the pat on the back from his dad, content to know that all Yom Kippurs feature his mother's annoyed stage whisper. He slides in next to Tate and she hands him a booklet and a bright blue yarmulke. 

"This is from my Bar Mitzvah," he complains and she grins widely.

He thinks of Pam every other second of every day but his senses are entirely heightened to be in Scranton. And he knows that the Presbyterian object of his affection won't be in this room, but still, he finds himself nervous and adjusts his tie. Yom Kippur makes him think of long, boring services where bothering Ben was more important than atonement and reflection. In fact, he's skipped services for the last couple of years, but he feels compelled to be here to atone for a truly egregious year.

The reading from Deuteronomy is done by a cute girl, a woman, probably around his age. She reads clearly – she probably read the passage over and over to prepare for today – and he feels moved by her sincere efforts. "I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before thee life and death, the blessing and the curse; therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed."

When he read his Torah portion at his Bar Mitzvah, his pre-pubescent voice had wavered – a common phenomenon, but he felt earth shatteringly embarrassed. Ever since then, although one should suppress such feelings, he feels a little uneasy when looking at the Torah and today was no exception. But maybe it was other factors that were causing his uneasiness, factors he should really try to suppress if he's to make it through this day in one piece without crumbling from Pam-related feelings.

Rabbi Swartz took to the bimah and Jim shifts in his seat, settling in, not sure what to expect. He was so used to seeing Rabbi Peller, and there had already been so much change this year. He sighs loudly and Tate looks him over before turning her eyes back to the bimah. The rabbi speaks about sending thoughtless emails and texts, thoughtless letters and phone calls, that we send without thinking. He talks about choosing words carefully, as to cause less pain. It's so easy to shoot of an email about negative attributes. It's more difficult and more ethical to speak kindly. To put it well. And with his head swirling, tears pricking his eyes, he lowers his head and catches his breath. Tate pats his knee.

As the Haftarah is being read, he wonders if the prophet would find this empty and superficial, behaving poorly and then showing up to temple expecting absolution. After all, he's not Catholic. He tries to think back to other times, other Yom Kippurs, when he's asked for forgiveness and he's drawing a blank. Whether he's been careless for years (maybe) or he's never wronged anyone and felt like this (better chance), he's not sure. 

He's been feeling numb lately – alternating numb and intense non-specific pain – but the service ends and he's closer to tears. Tate, who only knows the broad strokes of the situation, gives him a peck on the cheek and he smiles, sort of, his eyes to the floor. "Ben says hi, we called him from the car."

"What's he up to?" He asks, watching his mom say hello to Mrs. Rosenthal. 

"Eh, not much. Going to his gay temple, Beth El Homo. Come on, that doesn't even get a pity laugh?"

The name of the temple is Congregation Sha'ar Zahav, but he doesn't say it aloud. Instead he says, "Last time I emailed Ben, he said he and Alex were thinking about adopting."

"Can we leave, please?" His mother asks desperately from down the row. He puts one arm around her and they head to their cars, and he promises he'll be at the house a minute behind them. Of course, it takes him a little longer because his route includes a detour past Pam's house.

He yanks his yarmulke off his head and stops in front of her house – and when he starts to feel creepy, he pulls the car out of park, ready to head home.

"Halpert?" Roy asks from the stoop. He bounds down the stairs towards him and this is the moment Jim had been fearing. "I thought that was you. Didn't you move or something?"

Jim finds the power to nod. "Just visiting my family, it's, uh, a Jewish holiday." Roy nods and that's when Jim notices the beard. 

"So what are you doing here, man?"

He's on the verge of a panic attack when he decides to tell the truth, if only because it’s the only answer he can think of. "I wanted to see Pam."

Roy lets out a short laugh. "Are you kidding?"

Don't throw up don't throw up don't throw up. "I'm sorry?"

Roy shook his head. "I just don't get her sometimes. Now she's not even talking to her friends?"

Jim's still not putting the pieces together and he hopes it doesn't show in his face. Maybe it's because he's been fasting today and he's really slow on the uptake because of it. "I've been busy with the new job and the move…" That's the best he can manage. That's really the best he can manage? 

Roy straightens up, his hands jammed in his pockets as he looks away. "She called it off, moved out, the whole thing." He looks down into Jim's eyes. "Do you know what happened?"

He did, in fact, know what had happened, but was too busy trying to fight elation to offer any kind of response. "I'm sorry, man," he finally manages. He wants to know her address, he wants to break the speed limit to get to her – but the part of his brain screaming, 'She never called!' gets loud enough to dominate. 

He says goodbye to Roy and he's never seen someone look so dogged. You did this, he thinks as he pulls away. It was a mitzvah to make Pam realize she shouldn't marry Roy, he thinks, keeping score, but unethical to intentionally break them up. And what role did intent play? He points his car towards his parents' house. 

When the book closed on this year, what would he have to show for it? A woman he loved but didn't/couldn't feel the same. A career – that he had no business having. A brand new year was starting. A new chance. New everything. He swallows, rubbing at the stubble on his chin as he rolls through the green light.


	2. Yom Kippur 5768

He rubs at the stubble on his chin, fighting a grin. They had been fucking (as much as he wanted to call it something else, like making love, what they had done this weekend could not be called anything but) basically nonstop since Friday evening. This morning while going down on her, she waged a modest protest, something about burns on her inner thighs, but it only lasted until his tongue hit her clit. 

He's sure now, after months of quiet, private togetherness, that leaving her side is the most difficult part of his day – especially when she whispers things like, "If you don't get to temple, I will blow you right now." He's amazed he made it out the door.

He pulls his yarmulke out of his suit jacket pocket and puts it on slowly, searching for his family from the sidelines. They're closer to the front this year – better seats, he thinks – and he walks to join them, whispering sorry to Mr. and Mrs. Gottlieb as he slides in past them. He takes his place next to his sister, because there's practically no getting past her seven month pregnant body, and he kisses her cheek, smiling at his parents down the row. 

He bites his lip to try and staunch his smile, the good vibes he feels emanating from his skin. He thinks about her during the reading of the Torah, as they sing, and throughout the temple president's long winded speech. Thinking about her is hardly new, but knowing about that freckle on her upper left thigh or hearing her voice thick with sleep is very new and very strange – and amazingly, brutally hot. He can't wait to be back in bed with her, inside of her and maybe he's giving this too much thought.

He finally starts to listen, really listen, while the rabbi talks about tikkun olam and he knows he's doing his part to repair the world. He continues on, to talk about the temple's work in Darfur, in Israel, and he feels like a bad Jew – for a myriad of reasons. The infamous, international Jewish guilt. 

When he reflects upon this past year, he can't help but see it from a distance, like he'd been watching himself act. He tried to be a good man, especially after that declaration of love/spontaneous make out session against his desk. He tried to be good, but trying put him into a relationship with a woman who he liked a lot but was more distraction than a serious anything.

This quest for goodness failed often, most assuredly, when Pam gave him looks like he was killing her or the times they spoke, post-Roy trying to beat the shit out of him. He had not been so nice to the woman he loved. Loves. The one with the freckle on her upper left thigh. But this had been year of being mean to other women too. Karen. He felt like he'd tried to be a different person and that's who she'd dated, but now he was with Pam and felt more like himself than he had in years, if he was being honest. Karen dated that other guy, who had a lot of baggage and was emotionally unavailable and wasn't always kind or giving.

But today was about reconciling the guy he is with the guy he wished he hadn't been. He had been unfair, mean, he had blamed both of them for all of the ailments in his head, he hadn't loved Karen enough – or at all, but he'd let her love him fiercely. It had been such a release this summer, to think he was untethered by so many fuck ups, finally, but now he felt stupid. Just because he pretended that none of it had happened doesn't mean it didn't. Before the book closes, he prays to learn from this past year, and the one before, and all of the others before that too. He desires to be a better son, brother, friend – a better boyfriend. (Maybe a good fiancé and then husband, soon, if she'd let him.)

His stomach rumbles and he thinks he might break the fast when no one is looking; after all, he's wearing leather shoes, and certainly not did refrain from sexual activity, so he might as well ignore the Torah completely and have a bagel.

He picks up his back clumsily and the ring box tumbles to the floor. He's quick to pick it up, but Tate sees it and her mouth hangs open until he's back on his feet – which is when she clutches his arm, her fingernails digging into his shirt. 

"Later," she whispers sharply and he grimaces in response.

+

He doesn't end up breaking the fast until they get home, and they're all around the table, devouring bagels, lox, and a truly amazing chocolate hazelnut torte that his sister is eating almost exclusively. The food hasn't quite hit his stomach, and they're all eating voraciously, not talking, and he just wants to be back next to her already. 

His brother interrupts them with a phone call in between services and he's cranky from not having eaten yet so Jim eagerly passes the phone on. Eventually they all look up from their plates and have a conversation, albeit a tired one. Jim yawns, stretching, thinking about the return of the cameras on Tuesday and he wants to groan. Tate keeps giving him these looks, THOSE LOOKS that say, "I know a little and I'm going to find out a lot more soon."

They've agreed not to tell anyone, family included, and although it's killing him not to say anything, the upside is that this is just theirs – for now, at least. Except now Tate's on to him. He makes his hasty getaway when Tate goes to the bathroom and kisses his mother goodbye and gives his dad a big hug, taking his exit then. He speeds down the driveway until he hears, "Jim!" and he turns back.

His mom jogs down to him with Tupperware in her hands, smiling. "Kugel. You usually steal it from the table. Are you on a diet?"

He shakes his head. "I'm just tired." 

She crosses her arms, nodding. "Oh yeah, me too. But, seriously, are you, uh, feeling okay?" She exhales, staring up into the sky. "You don't tell me nearly enough, but I know you and Karen broke up and you didn't get that job in New York –since when do you give a shit about things like that? – and Tate said she saw a ring box in your bag and—" She took a deep breath. "You're giving me an ulcer, James."

His eyes fell to the pavement, trying to think of words that would reassure her, but he drew a blank. "Mom, don't worry, seriously, I'm fine." He takes the kugel and tucks it into his bag, wondering if Pam will like it. When he looks back, her eyes are on the pavement and she's shaking her head. 

"You just love your secrets, don't you." 

He bites his lip, not liking what he hears in her voice, and with a sigh, he says, "I'm dating Pam. The ring is for her." He takes a deep cleansing breath and realizes how good it feels to actually say it aloud to someone. 

She looks confused. "Wait, Pam – you mean Pam. That Pam."

He tries to fight the smile on his lips. "My Pam."

She stares at him. "Wow, how did you bag her?" His mother deadpans and he stops fighting his smile. 

"Not entirely sure, probably tricked her."

"Probably."

She reaches out and gives him a hug, rubbing his back, and when she pulls away she asks when they'll get engaged. "I hadn't thought about it, really, not past buying the ring."

She nods. "Wait. Please wait a really, really long time. Will you do that for me?"

He cranes his neck back, discomfort settling on his shoulders. "I don't want to wait anymore. That's been my life, like, waiting, and--"

She kisses his cheek. "Calm down. Fine. Just - don't scare her away. Jesus, I didn't slaughter your iguana, quit fucking looking at me like that. I'm just saying, if I was Pam, I almost got married, what, a year ago?"

"Over a year," he mumbles petulantly.

She touches his arm lightly. "Fine, over a year ago, but let her breathe, will ya?"

He nods. "Goodnight, Mom," he says, turning towards his car.

"Jim," she calls, but he walks off. "Good Yontif!" She yells and he turns back because he can't start the New Year by being a dick to his mom and she knows it.

She accepts his hug and apology, and he says he'll think about it. She squeezes him once, then releases him. "Have a good New Year, honey," she says softly, staring into his eyes and he almost squirms from her serious tone and gaze, but he accepts it all and climbs into his car, determined to have the best year, to be the best man, to be deserving of this life he'd been fortunate enough to attain.

/end.


End file.
